


Breaking Free

by Nilysil



Category: Warframe
Genre: Body Horror, Gen, Mawframe, Non-canon biology, Self-Mutilation, Suicide, Void Corruption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 17:16:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10995387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nilysil/pseuds/Nilysil
Summary: He’s tired of this.Awakening to pain, for the neural sentry to steal his body only to leave him in pain. Xev wants out, and seizes his chance to escape the omnipresent sight of the Void Tower.





	Breaking Free

The connection inside his head breaks with a sickening snap; energy donated to him by the neural sentry drains in a sudden vacuum, flooding him with unfiltered agony from a hundred open wounds. His legs fall out from under him, collapsing into a seated heap in a puddle of pooling blood. Sharp teeth bite black from a bloody hand, his heaving breath blowing hot bubbles through the sticking maroon. The prime’s sporadic gasps are quick, shallow and painful as the shrapnel scratches at his insides with each staggered breath. Limbs trembling, his nerves on fire from overheat and the bitter agony, struggling to remain conscious.

Xev gnaws at his hand as a surge of pain consumes his senses, body quivering as the pain crawls through his systems and flesh, from his limp legs up through his aching gut and heaving chest. ‘Need to stay awake’, he reminds himself between guttural heaves and muffled grunts.

The prime’s free hand clutch at his cramping stomach; his torn vents wheeze in tandem with his mock-breath, blowing out the intense heat from his burning insides. Muscles drawn tight to his torso, legs limp and clouded with unfeeling static as his ailed mind struggles to keep himself together. And conscious. He heaves as a torso twist crooks the shrapnel dug into his gut, chewing at his hand.

‘Got to fight it,’ Xev whines inside his head between shattering surges of pain, a pattern of forceful reboots of his overstimulated nerves. For a second he feels everything, in another nothing. Fatigue grips hard in a coil within his chest, the aching pain of malnourished energy within his gut. Around him there’s nothing but things he could eat – the corpses of another squad of intruders, red with exposed flesh.

And he can’t reach them.

Another surge of restarting nerves hold him back again, groaning within his throat before it eventually subsides again – the pain of overheat ever present.

He could just go unconscious now, try again next time.

But, he wonders, how long would that be…?

Xev adjusts the grip he has on his hand, chewing at the black muscles, tasting the stale copper of intruder blood in his maw and the sweetness of his black ichor. He chews at it through another shuttering surge; a temptation rising to cannibalize his own flesh – to get something into him to fill his empty gut.

The prime adjusts his maw, moving down his bitten hand to the inside of his forearm.

And chomps.

For a moment there’s nothing, and with the next surge of restarting nerves he’s forced to hold back a guttural growl; his mouth filled with a chunk of his own flesh. The prime holds it there with his maw tentacles, savoring the sense of having something in his mouth. And swallows the chunk whole before snapping another chunk from his forearm. And another.

The prime heaves a sigh as his insides process the black flesh, feeling energy pulse dull in his systems.

As his body is engulfed in another surge of pain his head leans back, staring upwards and biting back noises desperate to escape his bloody maw. The prime’s body shutters, a shaking whine escapes as his arms go lax. Three bite marks line the inside of his left arm, black drips down his mutilated skin into the pooling blood of the tower’s latest intruders – their bulky armor stained.

It’s not enough.

It has to be enough.

His muscles tremble as he lifts his arm again.

It’s not going to be enough.

The mutilated arm is in his maw again, teeth sinking deep into his spattered white and grey skin. Red and black trail down his stained skin, arm trembling as he bites off another chunk. A surge hits.

Even after it passes through his tired nerves, Xev has a hard time swallowing the tattered chunk; forcing himself to swallow his dark flesh only for it to slime down his throat painfully slow. It leaves him still wheezing, pain surging through his arm making it near limb, only able to hold it up with his returning maw – holding it there.

It only sates his empty gut, absorbing a bare trace amount of energy the neural sentry would grant him when it has need of him. It doesn’t lessen his heaving pants, nor the scorching heat occupying his carved chest. He has to eat more to get more energy, but … around them there’s fresh corpses he could scavenge from, but they’re all out of his crumpled reach – reducing as every moment passes.

His sacrificed arm trembles in his mouth; destroyed muscles quiver, fingers twitching from severed connections – nerves that need time to regenerate. Time Xev’s uncertain he has, teetering on the edges of concentration and consciousness. If he loses focus, he could faint again; he’ll have to start all over again.

He’s not sure how long he’s been here.

…

He can’t remember.

There’s only pain.

Another surge brings his lulling consciousness back to the flesh in his maw, biting back the pain crawling up his spine. His breath in heaves, his chest aching with heat. Everything just hurts.

Xev’s wandering, swirling vision falls into focus on a weapon that came to rest in the pool of blood.

If he could just reach it… then…

The prime leans over, the shrapnel scrapes in his gut and makes him cringe. Black ichor oozes from the wound, bubbling down his stomach and thighs as he reaches for the intruder’s weapon. His claws scratch at the metal sights of the bloodied launcher, edging the barrel closer to being within his grasp.

When it’s close Xev pulls the strange weapon into his lap, the sticking blood from it drips over his numb legs, merging with his black. It’s heavy; its barrel tapered till the circular cartridge sticking angled at the top. Another surge of pain; he can barely feel his left hand anymore. His sharp teeth release his mangled flesh, a twisted groan slips between his clenching teeth.

Once his nerves fall back into numb regression he flips the barrel upwards, leaning it on his senseless left, the end wedged between his stained legs. There’s a jut of metal at the end of the front, a long sliver just below the gun’s barrel. The end of the gun is angled to high, and he adjusts it pointed to his face.

Biting the metal jut.

The prime presses the ogris barrel up against his maw, edging the metal piece up inside his mouth and between his sharp teeth. Xev adjusts the angle of his perceived out, tilting the left side of his blood-soaked head against the barrel. His functioning fingers feel around for the trigger.

And jams his thumb on the trigger.

Nothing.

Stress coils in his gut; there’s clawing in his throat.

Was it out of ammo?

Then he releases the trigger – ready to press it again.

Xev jerks in the sudden explosion, his head whips off to the side and strikes his shoulder. He’s tasting blood; feeling fluid pour down his neck and shoulder, rolling over his heaving chest and the shrapnel in his gut. Something happened, is as much as the disoriented prime can figure through his shattered thoughts. Breathing in shakes, his consciousness lulls; there’s no wave of pain.

Again, Xev presses the launcher against his head, struggling to wedge it on broken teeth. He’s tasting blood; sticky and sweet lingering on the wandering maw tentacles that trace the dimensions of the metal jut. There’s a passing spark that something is wrong, but as soon as it comes it’s replaced by worry; will this actually work, or will the neural sentry just bring him back again?

His right arm is trembling; it’s hard to keep the trigger down.

Focus dwindling, nerves twitching in his head.

And his hand slips.

He feels the initial blast in his skull.

The black stained tentacles are torn apart in the blast, the rocket shredding others on its path through his flesh. It bites deep into the back of his maw, through black muscle and skin. It exits through the back of his head, black ichor spray spattering the wall. The ogris slides out of his grasp, his arms hang limp at his sides dipped in the pooling blood.

Xev is still, head leaned back arched to the blast behind him.

The shaking stopped.

A shallow breath, steady and slow even as fluid oozes down his throat. Warm blood flows from his head, pumping in time with a slowing falsified heartbeat. Inside his mind there’s nothing but a small call from the neural sentry. Small bursts of energy inject his systems, minute to the amount it gave him so many times. Again and again the energy fires into his system, denied by shutting circuitry. A small automated voice calls to him, calling to his systems and not him. It wants his body back.

It can’t have it.

On what remains of his mangled maw there’s a smile; the skin on his left side is almost completely gone, leaving his teeth exposed to the stale air of the Void Tower. He can feel the sentry’s desperation, senses numb as his functions shut down one by one – it can’t have him. It won’t have him anymore.

 **Useless** , he hears the neural sentry call.

“Fuck you,” he manages out, head tilted back to the ceiling of the gilded room.

His breathing slows and eventually stops, his vision fading.

He’s free.

He’s free…

…

…

…

It’s a while before his systems reboot.

A sudden kick in his chest alerts his consciousness; his breathing is shallow, his vents quiet and cold he touches them – dried blood cracking from his skin. His head is aching, but he doesn’t bother to hold it, more enamored by the dull pain and the lack of static in his head. It’s not in his head, he can’t hear the neural sentry’s calls anymore.

Xev’s muscles ache as he shuffles his numb limbs, staring over the regrown muscle of his bitten left forearm in relief. The bite marks from his palm and thumb are gone, cracks of dried blood showing the dark grey of his fingers and the off-white of his hand – unstained. But, if he’s ever going to escape this place, he needs energy.

Around him, there is only corpses; bodies left behind in his final possession. To escape this place, he’s going to need energy, and that means he needs to feed. Flesh or metal, he’s not picky.

Their bodies are cold and stale; degrading and rotting.

It doesn’t matter.

He doesn’t care.

He wants out of the tower.

**Author's Note:**

> The first thing he eats is the ogris, laid at his side.
> 
> -+-
> 
> Kudos, comments and sharing are encouraged!


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